Have a need?
by Sheitan
Summary: On the very eve of the Horde celebrating the defeat of Daelin Proudmoore's armada, Thrall is feeling far from elated, and a late-night visit from a certain Sorcereress supreme is not making things less complicated.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So, this is the final oneshot (that mutated into a twoshot) concerning Thrall and Jaina. It takes place on the fictious eve of the Horde celebrating their victory over the armada of Kul Tiras (the Founding of Durotar bonus campaign). Next up will finally be the actual epilogue to Age of Mortals. Please, if you find any errors, send me a message. I don't have a beta and I am honestly sick and tired of rereading this fic.

* * *

 ** _Chapter 1_**

As he stood by the window, Thrall could faintly hear the victory revels, but he felt no desire to re-join the festivities. He had stayed only long enough to placate his warriors and not rouse suspicion to the turmoil inside of him. The roast meat had turned to ash in his mouth and the beer soured when a brash warsinger had song the defeat of Grand Admiral Daelin Proudmoore in rousing words. As the Horde roared its approval all around him, he had gritted his teeth and risen to his feet and saluted, briefly meeting the eye of every officers and persons of rank at the high table.

Pride and satisfaction had stared back at him, mixed with smugness and honest blood thirst. Only the blind eyes of Drek'thar held something akin to apprehension, and they had shared a silent exchange before he had resumed his seat, and the festivities had roared to new heights.

He had played his role, and prayed to the Elements that he had played it well. He _was_ proud of them, of his people and all that they had accomplished.

Thrall let out a sigh and turned from the window.

He was damn proud of them, but he could not rejoice. In a morbid way, it seemed the Grand Admiral had come all the way across the ocean just to slap him in the face and point out how fragile the supposed peace was.

This was the beginning of war, not the end.

Thrall regarded his armor on its stand with a grim expression. The Grand Admiral might have forced his hand, but had that hateful man's actions not just hastened the inevitable? Was there really any hope for lasting peace? Was this new continent even big enough for them?

The Warchief slammed a hand down on the windowsill in a surge of anger. A year, one bloody short year, before it all came crashing down like a house of rotten cards.

No more! Die he might, but this would have to be resolved. This hatred must be destroyed, root and seed all.

He had delayed for far too long.

He had to – Thrall spun around suddenly, and lightning bloomed in his hand. Then he cursed and clenched his fist, strangling the lightning in its infancy. Before his eyes, the room filled with a soft glow and an oh-so-familiar spiritual presence.

"Jaina." He whispered her name as the light coalesced into the beloved figure.

She was dressed in state, as he had rarely seen her, a tight bodice hugged her torso and accentuated her already shapely body in a way that made his breath tangle up, and layered skirts brushed the floor. The fabric was shiny and heavy and of a deep, rippling blue, like the summer sea. Clasps set with black pearls held her golden hair in place and around her neck and wrists were silver meshwork set with dark stones.

Her face, however, was a stark contrast to her elegant dress and somber ornaments – her cheeks were ruddy, her facepaint smeared and her blue eyes flamed with a frantic gleam, which bewildered him more than her sudden appearance. And her spirit – it howled around her like a razorwind off the Barrens.

Beneath his shirt, the communion crystal burned.

"What is wrong?" he asked imploringly, holding out his hand.

The Sorceress stared at him, jaw quivering and her hands furling and unfurling. Thrall honestly believed he had never seen her so worked up, and they had been through hell and high water together.

"How could you do that!?" she suddenly cried and her voice stung with accusations.

"HOW COULD YOU JUST LEAVE?" Her voice rose suddenly, and though the walls of Grommash Hold were thick, Thrall was suddenly keenly aware of the presence of his elite guard right outside his door.

"Jaina, please, be quiet," he hissed, gesturing at the door.

"DON'T TELL ME –" Something in his urgency got through to her, and with a visible effort she swallowed her last, angry words, and just glared at him, her chest heaving in the tight confines of the bodice. He glared back, his own temper reacting to her presence and loud accusations. This woman, this woman, she affected him like none other.

"Leave you?" he said, on purpose misinterpreting her words. "Jaina, I will never leave you."

She shook her head.

"You left me," she whispered, her voice now as low and cold as it before had been loud and heated. "You left me next to my father's dead body, to face my people as they came screaming _murder!_ " Her eyes were like brittle glass now, but in way it was Thrall's heart that shattered when she came up to him and quietly laid a hand on his chest and whispered.

"You are just as much a murderer as I am."

He froze. He had entertained the thought himself, used it as one of the many failings he flogged himself with when despairing about the state of his realm.

But to hear it from her mouth. It was unbearable.

Lightning fast, he grabbed both of the Sorceress' wrists and held her hands still. She froze, staring at him with rage in her blue eyes.

"Jaina, never. Say. That. Again!" he growled, intoning each word.

"Your father's death was a terrible ordeal that should never have happened." He paused, making sure he had her attention. "But I will not tolerate being accused of a murder that doesn't exist." She made a thin, pleading sound, struggling vainly against his grasp.

"I will not tolerate that you accuse yourself," he went on.

She went rigid, her eyes widening almost comically. He had her, then.

"Jaina, your father brought his own death upon him, and you know that. I did not murder your father, and neither did you. He caused his own downfall."

Silence followed. Jaina still stared at him, but the fire was gone from her eyes. Slowly, Thrall let go of her wrists, and indicated a wooden stool next to the window. The Sorceress fell onto the round seat like her legs had gone numb. Her face was pale and she carefully rubbed her wrists.

Giving her a moment to compose herself, Thrall muttered: "What the hell is going on, Jaina?"

When she finally spoke, her tone was flat and matter-of-factly. "Tonight, they send my father out to sea on a flaming barge. Meant to carry him straight into the Light. I lighted the fire, and I felt like it was _me_ on fire…" She trailed off. After a moment, she took a deep breath.

"I know it wasn't murder. I know there was no other outcome than death. But murder would be easier to face than what will come of this. When the soldiers rushed in, I wanted to scream my guilt at them, I wanted to let them know how much I detested him, that it was his own damn fault. Instead, I had to step back while they cursed and swore revenge, while they cursed _you_! I had to put up with their consolations and pitying looks. Poor, wayward daughter, having lost her father just as he came to her rescue.

And I have to play the part. Keep my silence and grieve pretty tears."

She swallowed.

"There is no one I can talk to. No one. If anyone catches on to even a hint of my involvement in the invasion, I will lose my position. If they know of me telling you about the goblin shipyard, I will probably be burned at the stake. My father's forces will seize control of the island in an instant, and then they will come for you like a swarm of righteous hornets."

Her sarcasm was blithering.

"As long as my father's armada remains at Theramore, I have to watch my tongue even in my sleep. That damn Brightbeacon's already grasping for power, and he and my father are cut from the same cloth, believe me. To him, I am just a girl misbehaving, to be put in place, preferably with marriage. To him."

"Let him try!" Thrall burst out.

Jaina smiled at him, thinly, but it was a smile.

"It just went crashing down on me," she whispered. "I helped kill my own father, bastard as he was; my home is in ruins, my people hurt and I have a gaggle of self-righteous fools squabbling for power. Why couldn't we just be left alone!" she went on, exasperated. "You would think vanquishing an arch-demon merited a little goodwill!"

She shook her head viciously, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why couldn't he just leave me alone!" she moaned. Her entire frame was trembling.

Thrall was there, reaching out and puller her close. With an incoherent sound, the Sorceress pressed her face against his chest, her hands grasping at his shirt. Enveloping her in his embrace, Thrall just held her, as she broke against him. After what seemed an eternity, the weeping subsided, but still she clung to him, her soft, pliant body pressing into all the hollows of his existence.

"Jaina..." he murmured, his body responding to her presence in ways that he could not stop, any less that he could stop breathing.

They had made love before, in broken intervals, like planets out of orbit, and yet he felt like a despoiler when his needy flesh touched her fresh grief.

"It's ... as good as it gets," she whispered. "Please, let's forget just for this night?" She looked up at him imploringly, and Thrall nodded. Yes, at least for one night, let there be relief.

He ran his fingers lightly down her cheek. "Together," he agreed.

He loved this woman more than his own life. Perhaps even more than his people.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

Jaina let out a soft laughter, and then abruptly reached down to brazenly tug at the lacings of his pants.

"Have a need, m'lord?" she asked, her voice husky and playful.

Thrall moaned. This sudden change of mood was enticing, but also confusing. First she had appeared dressed all in silk and silver, and now she was acting like one of the courtesans he had seen entertain Blackmoore and his cronies. Neither silk and silver, nor wanton plaything, seemed like _his_ Jaina. As her slender hands reached into his pants to fondle his hard cock, the black jewels in her rings flashed – they were black diamonds, he realized. Black for death. She was in mourning, and there were gleaming rings set with black diamonds on the elegant fingers that were stroking his aching hardness, black diamonds for the death they had caused.

Death and passion came together in a heady mix unlike anything he had ever experienced. The blood roared in his ears, and he roared with it, displaying his tusk in a primal gesture of possessiveness. She was there, his mate, the smell of her arousal filling his nostrils. And yet something in him rebelled, something that could not forget why she was in silk and silver, why that killing had taken place.

Rough and tumble she might be, a leader of men and a power onto herself, but she was born a princess, and meant for a prince. With a strangled sound, Thrall pushed back.

"Or does m'lord have a problem?" she said, her intonation becoming sharp. Her delicate brows drew together like two golden swords meeting. She did not let go of his cock.

"Jaina –" he held out his hand imploringly. "I don't want to hurt you."

He regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth, but it was too late. And Jaina read his intent perfectly. No mistaking it for loving tenderness.

"Hurt me?" she murmured, her voice low and quiet and unassuming, the voice that had cast spells to throw down mountains and imprison demons.

He just looked at her, his desire for her hard in her hand and his heart at a still beat.

She stepped back, then, her face was as still as his heart, but her eyes blazed.

"Take me for a lady, you do?" she asked coldly. He could only nod, for it was the truth. She was the lady of his heart.

She looked at him with sadness in her blue eyes.

"This is low," she whispered.

She flung out her arms, and the skirts followed her movements, the deep blue fabric rising and falling around her like waves on a sudden, magical gust of wind. Beneath the dark blue skirts were layered petticoats that gleamed like seafoam. She was like the sea, fathomless in her power and in her spirit. So beautiful, so strong. He was mesmerized.

In her anger, Jaina did not notice the open admiration.

"Is this what you take me for?" she went on, voice still low and wretched, "a shallow maid in silk and dainty slippers, that wallows in the attention of her lowly plaything until a suitable bridegroom comes along? The thrill of the primitive with the added bonus that her virtue can remain pristine, because the beast cannot get her with child!"

She could have knocked him over with a feather in that moment.

His insides twisted painfully.

"Jaina –" he began, but the words stuck in his throat. His mind was spinning. Frustration, shock, anger, lust. How, why, how had this come about? He could barely breath, one half of his brain was still trying to make meaning of her words, the other half was reeling with the implications, even though he had never consciously considered it.

Children, a family. Continuity. When peace was barely attainable, and they could scarcely allow a smile to pass between them in public.

And yet, he knew that the yearning had been in him all along. He was an unwilling warrior that longed for peace and stability, an orphan that yearned for a family of his own.

Slowly, he stuffed himself back in his pants, but didn't close them. He did not touch her, only stood at arm's length and regarded her quietly; let her feel his undeniable presence.

She stared back, her chest rising rapidly. Her cheeks were flushed, her teeth clenched and a rose-shaped clasp was dangling on an errand strand of blonde hair next to her ear.

"What?" she exhaled, staring at him.

"Is it true? That we cannot have children together?"

Her eyes widened almost comically, and she drew in a sharp breath. "Dammit, you are no better than the thickheaded, _virtuous_ men back at Theramore! Is that all you men think about?!"

Suddenly, he was angry as well, and more than hurt.

"I am nothing like those whelps in their shiny plate on their fancy horses," he growled. He stood at his full height, towering over her, and she shrank away, her face apprehensive, but Thrall was too caught up to mellow.

"You know me, Jaina, I am an orc, my armor is black and my hammer has smashed human skulls by the dozen! I can read and write and lay out a strategy that could break your walls, but I am not a cavalier and not a noble lapdog!" He paused, breathing hard, his heart was beating away in his chest like a mad thing.

"Neither am I!" the blonde woman in front of him yelled.

"Light, how stupid to do think I am? Do you think I am blind? I can see you, green skin and oversized teeth and dirty pants right in front of me. And you know what, you look like an orc to me!" She slapped his chest for emphasis. "An orc! Not a human, not an elf, an orc! And that's what I want!"

She dragged air into her lungs, breathing just as hard as him.

He was about to start, but she outpaced him.

"Is it this dress, these things –" she pulled at her jewelry, throwing a priceless ring to the stone floor in front of his feet, yanking a silver clasp from her hair, hesitated, and then hurled it at him.

He took it right between the eyes, didn't even try to dodge.

A snarl was forming in the back of his throat.

"Is it making you think I'm witless, seeing me dressed up like a doll?" The words were suddenly soft, pleading. Her face had paled, her body was tense as a strung bow, and the anger was rapidly running out of her, sand from a broken hourglass. Time never to come again.

"Never!" He grit out, and then his anger deflated as well. "Never," he repeated wearily.

"Jaina, in silk or homespun or nothing, I know you. I know your worth, your beauty, your bravery and your wisdom. And that is what I want. All of it, and more." She stared at him, biting her lower lip, weak astonishment on her face.

"Thrall," she whispered, and went to him. He opened his arms and let her in. She leaned her cheek on his chest, as he embraced her.

"Unworthy," he mumbled, "I felt unworthy. Jaina, you are a princess."

"You are not unworthy, just stupid," she muttered. "What on Azeroth does princess has to do with anything?"

"It – " he raked his brain, and then let out a sharp laughter. "Yes, what does it have to with anything." He shook his head.

"Can you forgive me?"

"Only if you can forgive me," she replied. "I should know better than to think you would ever take me for granted."

They clung to each other for long, quiet minutes, before Thrall gently led them to the bed.

"I still need to know about the children," he said softly, while his large calloused hands, the hands of a killer, gently unlaced her bodice.

She looked away for a moment, and then nodded. "It's true. I did the research. There has never been born a child of mixed blood, even at the height of the war, where both sides ... violated each other."

He felt like he had been kicked in the gut, but somehow kept his face straight.

"I – should have known. I were in the camps, I heard all the stories of misery and violence. I never saw..."

"Thrall – I am sorry you had to hear it like this," Jaina muttered. "But I thought – maybe you would be happy."

He nearly snapped the lacings.

"Happy?!"

She nodded. "No risk of discovery. No ... complications."

He looked at her incredulously.

"Does it make you happy, Jaina?"

She hesitated and then shook her head. "Relieved, because I thought I might be pregnant, and I was not ready, but _not_ happy."

She reached out and stroked his cheek. "Thrall, you are my heart, my life..." She had a helpless, lost expression on her face. "Light help me, you are."

He gently pushed down her bodice, releasing her full breasts and just looked at her in all her glory, golden hair and cream skin and rosy lips and nipples.

"I love you, Lady Proudmoore, princess and Sorceress and just you – just Jaina. The most amazing woman I have ever been so fortunate to meet."

Her eyes shimmering, she leaned in to kiss him. "You are a poet," she whispered, "and I am the fortunate one." He kisses her back, gently, his tusks pressing coolly against her cheeks.

She drew back a bit so she could whisper: "Please, it's not that I deny the idea of children – with you," she added, and he smiled, tightening his grip on her.

"This truly has been coming on like a riptide ... Thrall, you have to understand that for me, "family" has always meant "duty". You are right, I _am_ a princess, and for as long as I can remember, my duty has been drilled into me – a royal marriage, bear male heirs, be the obedient wife. That was the life of my mother, my grandmother, my aunts and cousins. And you know what, I didn't question it, because that was how I could contribute. I had no other skills."

"That's bull –"

"Shh, please, let me speak." She twisted in his lap so her mouth was an inch from his ear. Words for him alone.

"The truth is that I did not mind – I enjoyed the privileged life of princess, loved and cherished and safe as an unlaid egg. I had already had my first eyeful of Lordaeron's golden prince and I found him delightful, idolized him in the way of an untried maiden. I mean, I would marry a prince, and if not Arthas, I just assumed my parents would pick another one just as gorgeous.

Then – then came the time of my growing up. My body changed in ways I found both wonderful and scary. And something else came with the changes. An awareness, a _tinkling ,_ " - she let out a ghost of a laughter – "and sometimes it seemed like I could see more colors than I was used to. When I asked my mother, she got a strange expression on her face, like fright and resentment and envy, all mixed up, and very carefully requested me to keep it to myself. It was part of becoming a woman, she said, it would go away soon enough. And I believed her, because I had never had any reason not to. Besides, the new sensations were not unpleasant.

I had always been close to my brother, but that spring we were ... not the best of friends ... and one day we got into a fight." She trembled in his arms, Thrall instinctively tightened his embrace, but he held his tongue. That was a story for another day.

"We fought," Jaina went on, her voice more steady, and eerily flat. "We fought, and when I pushed him away, there was sudden rush of _tinkling_ and the waves rose around us and carried me away from him..." She gulped and shook her head, and he whispered words of endearments into her hair.

"Enough of that. What was proven was that I had magic in me, very strong magic, and that my father was not pleased is an understatement. Magic is not a wanted quality in a noble wife, who's supposed to breed strong, cunning sons and meek, pretty daughters. Magic is not a part of valor, and so it was that my father tried to first suppress my magic, and then me, but it was too late. I had a taste of power, and for the first time I realized that I, Jaina, was something special, that I could do things that my peers could not. I wanted my magic, and I got it. Maybe it played no small role that magic strength of my caliber can be rather devastating if not properly controlled."

"You are still rather devastating," he muttered, and she could not help but chuckle.

"Sometimes."

She straightened and stretched, and more pieces of jewelry tumbled from her hair like dark stars.

"Thrall, I have always connected family and children with my duties as a princess. Now, suddenly, I was forced to rethink it all. Like I said, a riptide forced down my throat."

She paused.

"Am I making any sense at all?"

"You are, Jaina, and I understand you. We have our duties both."

He went silent, but Jaina read him too well.

"Thrall, what about you?" She placed a small hand on his chest, over his heart.

"I know you, I know what you dream of."

He swallowed. This was so hard. Because she spoke the truth. A family of his own had been his fondest, most impossible dream as a slave-gladiator, taking on more substance when he was reunited with his people, no longer an impossible fantasy.

He had suppressed the dream during the long campaign of war, and the settling of Orgrimmar.

But now, now there was order, a foundation, a real home, and he had heard the whispers, seen the sidelong glances. _Why do the Warchief not choose a mate? He is strong and fit, he could have his pick of the finest, strongest women in the Clans. He's not capable... Got ze hots fer dem hoomans..._ He had held off the suspicions by simple stoicism and authority, but it would not last forever.

Oh, he had tried to reason with his heart, each argument of logic seemingly more cold and cutting than the next. _Continuity, heirs, stability, peace ..._ It had been like trying to carry water in his hands to quench a forest fire.

A riptide. A riptide of long-denied truths. In a rush, something clicked into place in his heart. His mate would be human, and his children...

"I do want a family, children of my own. It has been by dream for as long as I can remember, since I was just a slave," he said slowly.

Her blue eyes shimmered and her face went hard in a way he had dreaded.

"No," he quickly said, "no, not like that." He cupped her face in his hand and gently kissed her again.

She let out a small sigh and melted against him.

"Dagaz, you have my heart," he whispered. "Whatever family I can have, I want it with you, Jaina Proudmoore. With you or with no one," he said with finality.

"Whatever we can have," Jaina concurred, "we will have with each other." She whispered the words into his skin, the movement of her lips the lightest of caresses.

It was fire on him.

"Jaina. Dagaz, my love, my only," he moaned, one hand fondling a full breasts, the other behind her back as he guided her down upon the bed.

"I need you," she hissed, grinding her crotch against his hip.

Their eyes locked with searing intensity, as Thrall pushed down his pants.

This was not to be languid, gentle lovemaking. Their need for one another burned too bright, too primal. With a guttural sound, Thrall fell on her, his weight pushing her into the furs, her face smothered by his chest. Grunting, he pushed her skirts of mourning up and thrust into her to the hilt. Jaina jerked, as her body stretched painfully to accommodate him.

He groaned something incomprehensible that might have been her name, and began driving into her with numbing force.

Locked beneath his much-larger body, she could do nothing but take the pounding, her whole body shaking with each thunderous thrust, and it was a pain so sweet she felt she might die.

"Jaina, fuck – " He shifted, freeing her, and her hands were immediately roaming over his broad chest, while his tongue and tusks teased and tormented her neck. Jaina sucked in a sweet, ragged breath, and moaned, her head falling back in near ecstasy. He was so close to crashing over the edge, to lose control, she could feel his desperate restraint in the thrumming of his corded muscles. And she was one who pushed the Warchief of the orcish Horde to the very edge of reason, called out the brute in his honorable soul. It was lethal and it was a thrill almost more than her magic.

With him, everything simplified, her soul laid bare and her desires crystal clear.

"Fuck me!" she shrieked, and he complied with a force that would leave her sore for days and her body adorned with bruises.

And when he spilled himself inside of her it was as much a promise of a future together as were his hoarse words of absolute devotion. Let love grow where no seed can take root.

Afterwards, they slept the sleep of those utterly exhausted in both body and spirit.


End file.
